Vintage
by DreamBrother
Summary: First bit preseries, latter half set present day. Enjoy.


**Disclaimer:**I claim not ownership of this fine show.

**Author's Note:**Turning 18, you'd think I'd be more involved with the fact that now, I can legally drink, drive, smoke, get married, etc etc etc, but no, I'm worried about the fact that I can now be chucked into jail. That ain't nice. So, to commemorate, I decided to start off my 18th year of life with some felonies .

Background info taken from _Soft Target_. Everything else, I just made up. Enjoy.

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**Vintage**

The neighbourhood was quiet and most of the houses had their lights extinguished, save for a hallway or bathroom light on here and there. The sane were soundly asleep in their beds and the slightly insane sat in their arm-chairs, with the lights from their television sets flickering across their faces as they watched with passion, and subdued enthusiasm in deference to this late hour, the soccer match occurring halfway across the world in a country which still enjoyed the light of day.

Outside one Craftsman home, dark save for the porch light (clearly, no soccer fans resided in this abode), there stood at rest three parked cars. The garage had never been a garage in the tradition meaning of the word. At the moment, it was more a home for chalkboards and washing machines than it was for motor vehicles. As a result of this, it was very easy for anyone to approach the main means of transportation of the family currently deep in slumber.

The dark figure approached the beat up, old VW. It might not be the most valuable of the three cars, but it was the one closest parked to the road, giving an easy exit to any who might deign to drive it. The paint might be chipping off, its gas mileage might leave a nice sized hole in the owner's wallet, and it would never be a chick magnet, but nine times out of ten it would get you wherever you wanted to go, and to this yet unidentifiable man, that was all that mattered at the moment.

There was also the benefit of old cars being easier to break into.

Looking left and right, the dark figure observed his surroundings. It would not do to be caught in a compromising situation, which is what he was in now, with his tools in hand, and a suspicious demeanour. No one, unless they had nefarious deeds in mind, would be out this late at night. Constant vigilance was key to getting away with honour and freedom intact.

Satisfied that the only living, breathing creature in close proximity, other than himself, was an orange-eyed cat which observed him warily, clearly judging the man by its expression for all that it was a feline, the man got down to business: Carefully, he pried away the strip of rubber that covered the small space between window and the outside of the door. Twisting the clothes hanger in his hands so that it lengthened a little bit, while at the same time retaining a hooked end, the man got down to the difficult part. Little by little, he inched the twisted piece of metal down into the narrow, and now uncovered, gap and by jiggling it around a little bit, he tried to get to the locking mechanism which was all that separated him from his goal.

A little luck here, and a lot of patience there, finally saw the lock to the driver's side door lift and the offender had a hard time not giving voice to his triumph. The last thing he needed was an uber-vigilant Neighbourhood Watch captain waking up and checking out this source of disturbance. For all he knew, the orange-eyed cat, which was creeping him out more than he would like to admit, was a minion of the captain, and was doing covert surveillance until the real cavalry arrived.

Now that it had served its wicked purpose, the hangar was put on top of the car, and inch by inch, the man pulled open the driver's side door, wincing at the creak and '_thuk_' sound emitted by the rusty old vehicle. You'd think the car would appreciate being paid so much careful attention and not give the game away with unnecessary sound effects, but apparently, that was too much to ask for. A sudden noise, caused by neither car nor man, had the dark figure suddenly crouching down and holding his breath as he tried to figure out the source of the disturbance. After a minute had passed, he figured he was just being neurotic, and that it had probably been the wind playing havoc with some unfastened doors with unoiled hinges.

Opening the door further, the man bent in and began fiddling with something in the ignition. Occupied as he was, he didn't immediately notice another figure cross from one side of the car to the other and come to a stand behind him.

It took a soft, yet audible and intentional, '_cough cough'_ for the man notice he was not alone, and the shock had him suddenly straightening out in alarm. Of course, in his surprise, he forgot that his upper body was in the car, and his head didn't appreciate, and neither did the VW, being struck against the interior roof of the car.

A string of colourful curses preceded the man backing out of the car properly and turning to look at this new stranger who had interrupted him. All it took was one look at the halo of curls surrounding the head of the stranger who stood silhouetted against the porch light for the offender to say:

"Dammit, Charlie, you nearly gave me a heart attack."

Oblivious to the obvious chiding he was receiving, Charlie Eppes stepped forward, his face now a bit distinguishable from the rest of the darkness. The interrogation began:

"What were you doing?" Clearly, curiosity did not only belong to orange-eyed cats, but to younger brothers as well.

Don shrugged. "Grabbing my bag from the backseat of my car. What are you doing up so late?"

"I'm still on New Jersey time, couldn't sleep."

Don smiled as he appraised his brother. "The flight was alright, then? Glad to be home?"

Charlie gave a returning smile, but didn't answer the question, instead asking one of his own: "You weren't supposed to be back until day after tomorrow."

"Yeah…," began Don, a bit uncomfortably, "Felt like coming home a bit early, so I just packed my bags, and got in the car. The college isn't going to revoke my scholarship just because I missed one baseball practise."

"So you decided to drive all night to get here?"

"Pretty much," nodded Don.

"Studies show that the majority of highway accidents occur whe--," began Charlie, a worried edge to his tone, but he was interrupted:

"Buddy," jutted in Don, "trust me, no accidents. There's a reason why coffee and rock music exists in the world, and that is to stop people from falling asleep at the wheel." He pointed to the passenger side seat, and under the faint glow of the streetlight, Charlie could see the area littered with empty coffee cups, along with a shoe-box full of cassette tapes.

Reasonably satisfied, Charlie stepped back a little, but to Don's dismay, a curious look set into his eyes and the elder brother knew there was no dodging the bullet now.

"Why did I see you do something with a hangar to the car door?" asked Charlie.

Don sighed. _Maybe_, he thought, _if I tell him now, he'd have forgotten it by morning_:

"I… locked the keys in the car. Figured if I remedied the problem now, nobody would need to know about it come morning."

Charlie nodded, picking up the twisted hangar from the top of the car and twirling it in his hands: "You regularly travel around with a hangar on your person at all times?"

Don grinned, and snatched the hangar back, before chucking it in the back seat and shutting the door: "Nah. That's where breaking into the garage comes in handy."

Grabbing his duffel bag and putting his arm around his brother's shoulders and turning him around so that the siblings were now walking towards the front door, Don made sure the car keys were in his pocket and the door securely locked, before saying: "So, Chuck, this will be our little secret, right?"

"That depends. What will you give me in return for not telling Mum that you seem to be quite experienced in getting past locks?"

X19x11x1989x19x11x1989X

Sunlight filtered through the windows, silhouetting one of the Eppes men who sat on the sofa, poring over a book placed on the coffee table in front of him.

Yawning, Charlie dropped into the arm chair next to the sofa and leaned back, asking:

"Whatcha looking at, bro?"

"Old photo album. Dad must have left it out."

"Uh oh, nostalgic Dad on the war path," commented Charlie. "Circa?"

"College days. Well, for you, that's kinda half your life, but I'm talking about the time when we were both in university," clarified Don as he flipped a page. A soft laugh had Charlie, who had closed his eyes the moment he had sat down, prying one open to look curiously at his brother.

"What's so funny?"

Don shifted the photo album so that it was not halfway between him and his brother. Reaching out, Don yanked his brother forward as Charlie currently lacked the strength and will-power to do it himself.

"Thanks," said Charlie, as he now bent over the photo album. Eyes flicking over the four photos adorning the two pages on display, Charlie realized what had made his brother laugh.

"You and that VW. Back then, who would've have thought you'd move on to the gas guzzler that is your SUV?"

"It isn't mine, it's the government's. Besides, the VW ate up its fair share of petrol, I can tell ya that."

Carefully, Charlie took out the photo of the two brothers standing in front of Don's old car, both of them at the time unaware that their father was watching them through the lens of the camera. It had been taken the summer Don had come home early from college in the middle of the night, only to lock his keys in the car.

The photo was barely in Charlie's hands for more than a second or two before Don lightly slapped his hand and grabbed the picture: "Oy. You know the rules. Look, look, but no touch. If you want to ignite the wrath of dad, look for ways that don't involve him making me dust for fingerprints."

Charlie smirked. "Hey, my crime is miniscule compared to your lock-picking abilities. You know, I never told them about that night."

Don gave a short laugh as he put the picture back into the photo album: "That's because I taught you how to drive in that old VW for your silence. Fair trade, bro. _And_, you got tiny percentage of the money I got when I sold it off."

"Hey, good business is good business, my friend."

"Extortionist," accused Don.

"Felon."

**Khatum (The End)**

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**Hope you liked. This fic can be seen as a prequel to 'Locksmith'. My muse is a bit MIA these days, hence the delay with AYN and the other fics I have in mind. The only reason this oneshot exists is cause I guiltied the muse today. Doubt that will work again, so until I find other means to lure it back, night night:-)


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